


A Beachside Retreat

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [48]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond flies to the Bahamas for a month of R and R, and gets a major surprise on his arrival. (Post-Skyfall AU).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beachside Retreat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts).



> I happened to read [this theory about Skyfall](http://jamesbond.wikia.com/wiki/Thread:10317) and showed the link to Wolfsbride, and a comment of hers about the theory sparked the idea for this fic.

The private beach appears deserted, which might be expected at such an early hour of the morning, but then two figures came into view: one is a petite, older woman with a close-cut crop of white hair; she has a towel draped over her left shoulder, and wears a navy blue swimming costume; the second is a tall, younger man with dark blond hair; his towel is hanging around his neck, and he wears bright blue swimming trunks.

The man might be mistaken for the woman's son, but such a notion is quickly disabused when he slips his arm around her and his hand cups her right breast. 

"James!" Her voice is stern as she reaches up and slaps his hand away. "Stop that!"

"Olivia, please?" he begs.

"I've told you before, Mr Bond, under no circumstances will I be rolling around in the sand with you. Making love on a beach _sounds_ romantic enough, but there is nothing remotely romantic about having sand in the wrong places."

James pouts like a thwarted toddler. It's not _his_ fault, he tells himself, that he's horny and hard, given the way that Olivia's nipples are poking at the front of her swimming costume from their swim in the cold sea. Not to mention that she didn't bother drying herself properly, so her skin is still wet and, in his eyes, utterly luscious. For a woman whom everyone believes to have been dead these last six months, she's looking remarkably healthy – in fact, to James Bond, she looks totally fuckable.

He puts his arm back around her as they pick their way over to the flight of steps that leads up to the beach house Olivia had bought following her 'death'.

She looks up at him. "Try anything else, mister, and I won't let you back in my bed."

He scowls, then ducks his head and gives her a swift kiss on the mouth before scooping her up off her feet. Olivia shrieks in surprise, then starts laughing as he runs up the steps with her in his arms.

He hurries across the courtyard at the back of the house, through the French windows, and although he's tempted to stop in the sitting room which looks out over that courtyard, he continues upstairs to Olivia's room where he deposits her, still giggling, onto the luxuriously large bed they'd only vacated a couple of hours earlier.

He tosses aside their damp towels, then peels down the top of Olivia's swimming costume, exposing her still-hard nipples. He glances up at her face as he lowers his head, and sees the smile she's giving him, and that's all the permission he needs before his mouth finds her flesh.

"Oh yes, James, yes. Good boy," she murmurs, her hands lifting to clasp his head as he suckles on her breast.

After a few minutes, he switches his ministrations to her other breast, and simultaneously peels her swimming costume the rest of the way off. He's achingly hard, but he makes himself wait, lavishing attention on her upper body first; he loves her breasts: they're so voluptuous for such a petite woman, and he knows how much she enjoys having his hands and mouth on them.

When he can bear to wait no longer he grabs the bottle of lube from the bedside table, but before he can uncap it, Olivia takes it from him.

"Get your knickers off," she says sternly.

James laughs at that, then gets to his feet; standing in the middle of the bed, his eyes fixed firmly on Olivia's, he starts to hum the tune of 'The Stripper' as he slowly eases his swimming trunks down off his hips.

Olivia starts laughing when she recognises the tune, and he smirks, then whips his trunks down the rest of the way and tosses them aside. Before he can move again, she hooks a foot around his ankle and jerks her leg, pulling him off balance to sprawl onto the bed beside her.

"Bloody hell, woman!" he says, startled by the manoeuvre. He's further startled when she shoves at his shoulder.

"Roll over, James."

He obeys, and once he's on his back, she shifts to sit astraddle his thighs, his hard cock and heavy balls pressing up against her flesh. She uncaps the bottle of lube, and begins slathering it on his cock, and he moans with pleasure, his fists clutching tightly at the bedding. She pushes up on her knees and he watches as she slips her right hand, fingers coated in lube, between her own thighs and begins preparing herself. It is, he thinks, the sexiest thing he's ever seen a woman do for him, and he can't help begging her in a hoarse whisper, "Please, Olivia. I want you."

She puts the bottle of lube aside, then smirks down at him. "And you shall have me, James." That's all the warning she gives him before lifting herself up and impaling herself slowly on his rigid cock.

How he doesn’t come there and then, he has no idea, but somehow he manages to hold off his climax, and he's so glad he did, because her hot pussy feels so good wrapped around his prick. She puts her hands on his chest and rides him as if they've done this a hundred times before, and it's hard to remember this is only their second day together.

He'd arrived in the Bahamas three days ago after a training exercise that had turned into a nightmare mission which had been brutally hard on him. Mallory (the new M) had sent him away to get some rest, and told him not to come back to the office for a month, so he'd come to the Bahamas, craving warmth after three months in Alaska in the middle of winter. 

007-007-007

Three days ago

Bond walked out of the baggage claim area, intending to find a taxi to take him to a hotel, but he'd barely walked a dozen paces when he stopped dead to stare at the diminutive figure approaching him.

"M?" he asked incredulously.

She smiled up at him. "Not any more, James, you know that. You'd better use my name now."

He wondered if he was imagining the hint of nerves in her expression as he stared down at that familiar, dear face. "But you died," he said. He was aware of how stupid that statement was in the circumstances, but he was unable to take her appearance quite for granted.

"Officially, yes." She tilted her head to one side, one eyebrow raised. "Are we going to stand here all day, or shall we go somewhere cooler, and get the explanations out of the way with the aid of alcohol?"

He couldn't help grinning at the suggestion. "Let's go."

She nodded, and led the way at a smart pace, proving that she'd fully recovered from the gunshot wound that had supposedly killed her. He followed, admiring her figure: she was clad in loose white trousers and a pale beige t-shirt, and as they stepped out into the heat, she donned a sunhat and a pair of sunglasses. He slipped on his own shades, amused by how at home Olivia seemed here. The climate seemed to suit her, if her glow of health, not to mention the suntan, was anything to go by. She directed him to the passenger seat of a sporty two-seater, and he blinked, surprised all over again.

"I didn't know you drove," he remarked as he tossed his bag into the back of the car, then folded himself into the front seat, noting that she'd put the seat back as far as it would go.

Olivia lifted an eyebrow. "Why shouldn't I?" she asked.

He shrugged. "No reason. I've just never seen you drive – you've always had someone else driving you before."

She smirked. "Of course. Someone of my exalted rank had to have a driver."

Bond laughed. "Of course." 

She threw the car into gear and set off at a smart pace, proving quite clearly that she not only knew how to drive, but also how to manoeuvre through the traffic that thronged the area around the Grand Bahama Airport this afternoon.

007-007-007

Bond was surprised when Olivia drove out of Freeport and headed along the coast. "Where are we going?"

"My place," she said, flashing a glance at him. "Unless you've any objections to staying with me, of course?"

She sounded complacent, he thought, as if she knew full well he wouldn't object. "None whatsoever."

"Good. I bought a place on the coast with its own private beach."

"Nice investment."

"Thank you."

Bond was burning to ask more questions, but Olivia had promised explanations, and alcohol, so he contained his curiosity, and let her concentrate on driving. He was relieved, however, when she turned off the main road and headed down a side road some twenty minutes after they'd left Freeport.

She parked in a white-gravelled area at what was obviously the back of the building, then led the way down the side of the house until they came out into a courtyard that was built on a terrace overlooking the beach below, and the ocean in front of them.

"Fabulous view," Bond observed.

Olivia smiled up at him. "Thank you. Do you want to freshen up first?"

"If that's okay?"

"Of course." She turned, crossed to the sliding French windows, and unlocked one, and he followed her inside, blinking as his eyes tried to adjust to the dimmer light within. He pulled off and pocketed his sunglasses, then blinked some more. He realised they were in a large, comfortably-furnished sitting room, but he had no time for more than a quick look because Olivia was leading the way to a short hallway, then upstairs to the first floor.

"My room's there," she told him, gesturing at the master bedroom, which also overlooked the ocean. "You're in here." She pushed open the door of the guest room, which was also a good size. "There's an ensuite – and plenty of hot water if you want to shower."

He stepped past her into the bedroom, his arm brushing against hers, and he felt a tingle of arousal at the touch.

"Thank you."

"I'll be out in the courtyard when you're ready. Don't feel you have to rush, though."

"Very well." 

"It's good to see you again, James." She put the palm of her right hand flat on his chest, over his heart, then pushed up onto tiptoes to kiss him chastely on the mouth; he was so surprised that she had disappeared back through the door before he could get either his brain or his vocal chords to work. 

007-007-007

Showered and changed into shorts and a loose t-shirt, Bond stepped through the French windows to see Olivia reclining on a sun-lounger by the low wall at the far side of the courtyard. There was a second sun-lounger nearby, with a low, white-painted iron garden table between them, and a parasol offering shade so that the drinks didn't get too warm. He noted an ice bucket underneath the table, and smiled as he crossed to join Olivia.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you." He settled himself on the sun-lounger, noticing for the first time, that her feet were bare, and her toenails were painted aquamarine. 

"Help yourself to a drink," she said, gesturing at the table with her free hand.

"Thanks." He poured himself a Scotch and added some ice, then leaned back as he took a sip.

"Shall I begin?" He raised an eyebrow enquiringly, and she shook her head slightly. "I'm assuming you do want an explanation for my presence, and the reasons why I let you – and almost everyone else – think I was dead?"

"Yes I do."

"Then I'll begin. If you've got any unanswered questions at the end, you may ask them."

"Thank you."

007-007-007

Olivia's recital hadn't taken very long, and Bond had been unsurprised to learn that she'd decided not to wait for Mallory and the JIC to pension her off following the business with Silva. He _was_ surprised to learn that she'd enlisted Kincaid's help, and Moneypenny's, and that the pair of them had managed to keep M's – Olivia's – secret from him.

"Why did you decide to let me in on the secret now, then?" asked Bond when she'd finished speaking.

"Eve told me that you almost didn't make it back from your last mission. She didn't give me any details, of course," she added when Bond gave her a sharp look. "She just said it had been much harder on you than anyone had anticipated, and that Mallory had given you a month off. It was only when she told me that you'd asked her to book a flight out here that I decided to give in to my longing to see you again."

He sat up, startled by her admission. "You – " he began, then stopped, staring at her uncertainly.

"I've missed you James," she said softly. "Terribly. More than I ever imagined I would. Certainly more than the work."

He put his glass down on the table, then got to his feet and walked away, over to the corner of the courtyard where a flight of steps lead down to the beach. He didn't hear Olivia approach, but her hand came to rest on his arm and he pulled his hand from his pocket, then turned towards her.

"Tell me you're not flirting with me," he said, his tone harsher than he'd intended.

"James, I am not flirting with you. You mean a great deal to me, and always have. Those three months when you were missing in Turkey, and I thought you were dead, were torture."

He gave her another sharp look. "Is that why you pretended to be dead? To punish me?"

Olivia shook her head, and he could see from her expression that his question was not unexpected. "I had no desire to punish you for anything, James. I wanted to leave the Service on my own terms, not at the behest of bureaucrats who don't understand what we do, or even the reason for our existence. Faking my own death was the cleanest way to get away," She slid her arm around him and squeezed gently. "If you can't forgive me – " 

He cut her off without compunction, ducking his head to kiss her, and was relieved when she opened her mouth to his tongue. She pressed herself against his body and he picked her up to set her on the low wall so that they were more nearly of a height.

When they finally had to pull apart for air, she smiled at him, then said quietly, "Let's go inside, James."

He nodded, then scooped her up off the wall, making her laugh; he carried her inside and up to her room.

007-007-007

Now

Olivia lies, spent and sated, on top of James' body; her head is tucked under his chin, and his arms are loosely wrapped around her body as she dozes while he looks at the blue sky outside the window. He can't help thinking that this month is going to be different from any other month he's ever lived – and the idea excites him. He'd never expected to discover that M felt any sexual desire for him, although he's been attracted to her for years, because she's always done a very good impression of a woman who finds him exasperating. Several times, in fact, he'd suspected her of harbouring a strong desire to kill him, or have him killed, and he reflects that it's probably just as well he hadn't had any inkling of her real feelings because he would have been far too tempted to act on them. He bites back a laugh at the thought of how M would have reacted if he'd tried, and Olivia lifts her head.

"What's amusing you?" 

"I was thinking that it's just as well I had no idea about how you really felt about me, or I'd have been tempted to act on that knowledge, and then you'd probably have had me killed, or kicked my arse yourself."

"Why do you think I didn't tell you? You'd have been insufferable."

He does laugh now. "True." 

She smirks, then kisses him, and he tightens his arms around her. "Don't you want some breakfast first?" he asks when she releases him.

"That would require moving off the bed," she points out. 

"What a terrible thought."

She giggles, and he smirks this time, then rolls over so that she's on her back. "Are you ready for round two?" he asks.

"You're insatiable."

"I am where you're concerned," he agrees, and begins moving down the bed, laying a path of butterfly-light kisses across her skin. He reaches her thighs, and nips carefully at one, and she moans, then grabs his head and pushes it towards her sex, and James Bond can't help smirking again: apparently he's not the only insatiable one.


End file.
